Broken and Frozen
by pulchritude96
Summary: Dealing with inter-galactic criminals, Valerie Goldstein had always danced on a thin line between being a villain and being an anti-hero. But when Loki Lie-smith comes to her with a simple request of infiltrating S.H.I.E.L.D, her greed gets better of her empathy, awakening the very demons she had tried to suppress since the start. Set in the post-Thor and pre-Avengers time line.
1. Morbid tastes

_More concealer. _

She proceeded to pick up the tube, and apply more of it, all while keeping track of her appearance in the mirror. Her eyes had sunken beyond rescue, and on addition to that, there were dark circles, to just bring about the fact that how much sunken they were.

_Damn. _

_Much more of that under-eye cream._

After five more minutes of struggling with multiple tubes of creams and lotions, the area under her eyes didn't look that black. They were, by then, faint darkish splotches, circling the lower border. But the sinking, that was beyond help.

_And, I look like I just had a marathon orgy. _

Valerie stared at the mirror for sometime. She had substantially lost some more weight, more than she would have preferred. Her high cheekbones would look better, if there was some flesh in her cheeks. Her nose seemed more pointy than ever, now completely devoid of the well rounded, oval shape that her face used to behold. It was just….skin on bones. A live skeleton. And, then there were her eyes, large, a little bit too large, and so utterly green. _Scary green. _

_Not even today. I don't look pretty not even today._

She stared some more. And then, suddenly, as if seized by an impulse, picked up the kohl and fiercely blackened her eyes. Her entire bottle of rage, and frustration, it seemed that the small kohl pencil was not enough to vent out through. She pressed the kohl on her eyes so hard, that when she put it down, there was a small cut at the corner of her left eye, with a tiny drop of blood trickling down her cheek.

_Great. There goes my foundation._

She wiped it off her cheek, using the sleeve of her trench coat as an wipe. It was vintage, but she did not mind. It did not matter to her anymore. Strangely, when she wiped off the blood, she found that her hands were trembling.

_What happened, darling? Are you afraid?_

Straightening her sleek black hair in its perfect, immaculate bob, she turned away from the mirror. Walking away from the bathroom, she gave her apartment one last look. Some thousands of pizza boxes and cola cans were lying everywhere, upside down, under the couch, over the TV, on the couch…it was chaos. Her blanket was hanging from the ceiling, one of its ends dangling rather awkwardly in the mild breeze that was coming through the open window. A revolting smell of decaying food was prevalent in the air. It was hardly relevant to her, at that moment.

She kicked aside one box, and made straight for the door. She picked up her umbrella from the umbrella stand, took out her key, and went out, slamming the door quite loudly behind her.

It was not raining when she got out, but in London, an umbrella is a necessary companion to a walk. London can be a moody bitch. Valerie swung the umbrella mildly as she walked, a soft hum forcibly brought on her lips. People walked on, past her, too busy with their chats, and their night-time plans. A Friday evening, a bright, lively summer evening, and there was a general pleasantry in the environment. The warmth of the evening was a fresh respite to her, a relief from the stench of pizza boxes and cola cans. The alight pubs, restaurants on both sides were a treat for the eye, again, a relief from the boring, monochromatic ivory of her own walls. It was delightful, the relief, and the morbidity that had been eating up her head, previously, started to disappear now. She felt free.

_Free to choose._

The familiar bright signboard of the pub was visible, as Valerie turned a corner. She stared at it, the board, for a little while. Yellow LED adorned the border, while the word 'Beatrice', was scrawled in an elaborate cursive, pretty red lights making the contrast perfect. It was eye-catching.

Easy conversations, chats and casual banters greeted her, as she stepped inside. People were seated, occupying all the fifteen tables and the sixty chairs, scattered in a random neatness, all around the large, spacious room. The long, oak table in front of the counter, furnished with high stools, was also occupied in its most parts. Across the room, a group of men, hoisted a game of darts, loud cheering, and friendly slang accompanying the event. The smoking room, on the left, was occupied, meaning more people. A stair led right to upstairs, the pub's 'solid food' section, and there were noises, cheers, and the sound of pool being played, coming from there. A delicious, yearning smell of malt was lulling everyone that walked in. The large glass window on one side, overlooked the busy street, and beyond that, Thames. Lovely.

"Look who it is!" Claire Carter, a perky, twenty two year old greeted her. Her long blonde hair was neatly tied in a braid, and her loamy brown eyes shone with delight as Valerie occupied the corner most stool at the counter. "The rarest of 'em all, aren't ye now?" her pretty, Scot accent made her voice sound like a sweet song.

"One Ginger Ale for ye, Valerie?" she asked, turning back for the pump.

"Yeah. Hit me."

She sipped the delicious drink quietly, savouring the bitterness it produced in the tongue. Her eyes constantly scanned the customers, so happy, so careless, and for a moment, pondered on what might be the reason to their unexplained silly delights. Then, giving it up as another lost cause, she finished her drink, and got up. Claire peered at her in surprise.

"Leaving this soon?"

"Life's too short."

She was startled at her own voice. Or rather, her own tone. She always had this bland, monotone when she addressed others, not letting one drop of emotion trickle out. But this time, when she spoke, her voice sounded different. She sounded tired. _She was tired._

"You okay?" Claire asked. "You sound funny."

"Yeah. Yeah. Just a little off."

"Have a good day."

"You too."

Her pace was fast. She didn't spare the occupants of the room another glance, as she sped out of the room, so cramped and noisy, and chaotic. For a fleeting moment, she had the compulsive urge to blast through the room, and kill all those pesky creatures. She shook her head in utter disdain, and reached for the door.

"Miss Goldstein?"

She looked up at the speaker. Valerie had always been one on the tall side, her head reaching precisely the five feet nine mark, but the man that greeted her, was much taller. He was wearing a classy, black suit, completed with shiny, buckled shoes, and a black scarf. His dark black hair was slicked back neatly, and his green eyes shone brightly, engraved in his pale, pointed face. _Classy face._

"Good evening." he said.

Valerie eyes the man with the least amount of interest. "Can I help you?" she asked, not really bothered about the possible reply. One of her hand had already unlatched the knob, and was holding the door open, just waiting for someone to get out. Or go in.

"I have some possible business prospects, that I would like to discuss with you, as I believe that it will be beneficiary for both of us." he said, his accent sounding a lot like those from the Upper side of London.

Valerie sighed, and looked up to the man. "Not tonight." she said. "Not tonight."

And she walked out, leaving the man to be.


	2. A death wish

**So the second chapter is up! Er...I tend to get a little graphic when it comes to violence, blood and gore, so...you have been warned.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Valerie leaned over the railing, her eyes watching the Thames, but not really seeing. She didn't want to wait, to unnecessarily drag it out, but suddenly, even though her stubborn mind refused to admit it, she was feeling a little afraid_. No, no, afraid is not the word. What was it? Apprehensive. Yes, apprehensive._

Her fingers carelessly drummed along the metal of the railing, almost unmindful of their owner's mental state. It was lovely summer, and yet, her entire body felt numb from apprehension.

_Yep. Need to be more drunk for this._

She remembered about the crate of Vodka she kept in her apartment, for times of emergency, and without wasting another moment of her time, she spun on her heels, and made straight for her apartment, her hair bouncing mildly at the motion, her hands deeply buried in the pockets of her trench_._

Only a pair of emerald green eyes watched her motion.

* * *

"This must feel new."

Valerie's head spun so fast, that the bones in her neck, for a moment, felt like they would snap. She blinked at what she saw, strongly believing that it was a part of her Vodka-drinking daze.

The man she had met earlier, the one with the shiny, buckled shoes, was leaning on the opposite wall, eyeing her. There was something in his eyes that Valerie hadn't noticed before, the last time that she saw him, her mind too preoccupied. This time she did.

_There was curiosity._

"You." Valerie tried to sound stern, but large swigs of Vodka was keeping her from that. She was struggling to keep her voice from trembling, and it really just came out as a sign of being surprised. _A little afraid too, perhaps._

"It is I." he said, a little…_amused, perhaps? _"Are you surprised?" he asked.

Valerie jumped up. Her right hand went up so fast that it was hard to believe that it was her hand, and not some fragment of a lightning bolt. Her left hand, however, was stashed deep in the pockets of her coat.

"Get out of my flat." She snarled like a rabid dog. Valerie still didn't sound so intimidating. However, the weapon in her hand certainly would do the trick. She held a fully loaded Beretta in her hand, and no matter how much her voice trembled, her eyes blazed with a cool, intense anger that would burn anybody who dared to set his eyes on hers.

"Anger never makes you take wise decisions, Miss Goldstein." the man tilted his head on one side. "You will regret if your decisions are made on the most basic of the human emotions."

"Get out of my bloody flat!" she took one step towards him. Her voice was dangerously close to breaking point. "Get out of my flat, or, or, I WILL SHOOT YOU IN COLD BLOOD!" she howled, completely devoid of all self-control.

"Oh, but you see, you really should not do it." the man now took a step towards her too. "Because, as I have said before, I have some proposals that I think will be beneficiary for both of us. Not to mention, very fun." he added with a snicker.

When he moved, Valerie had fired from her Beretta. However, the moment her hand had touched the trigger, there was something strange, something unusual. The man swirled in his spot, and it seemed like, he crossed the entire lengths of the room in one tenth of a second. He reappeared in front of Valerie the same moment he swirled in his spot, and calmly put his hand on the barrel.

She knew that she had fired the shot and she heard the reassuring, usual, 'blop' of the silencer. But she didn't see the bullet. The man had put his hand down on the barrel, and the shot was supposed to pierce through his hand, leaving his entire palm into one bloody mess.

Only it didn't.

He looked down to the barrel of the gun, with a plain bored expression. When he pulled away his hand, he was holding the bullet in his long, fingers, raising it up for his inspection.

"Human weapons." he said. "They do not hurt me."

There was a choking sound from Valerie's direction. He looked up, now chuckling lightly, and glint of mischief evident in his eyes. But, then he saw her, and his smile disappeared.

Valerie was shivering insanely. Her forehead was covered with sweat beads, her fingers were clasped so tight around the gun that her knuckles had turned white. And, there was a growing scarlet red spot visible on the surface of her grey coat, where she had stashed in her left hand.

_Blood. Pretty blood._

He now frowned, a little surprised by this new spectacle. "Well, now this is just unsettling." he muttered. Valerie stared at him, and there was just one plain expression in her eyes. _Resignation._

Then, she collapsed on the spot she was standing, making a loud 'thud' as she landed. She was now shaking violently, and made no attempt to hide the blood mark on her coat. She pulled out her hand, and let it fall down on the ground, beside her, like a lifeless piece of flesh. It was the sight of the hand that left him a little…unnerved.

There was one single gash in her wrist, so deep, so severe that the white of the bones were visible. It was a neat cut, made by one mighty stash of the knife on the soft flesh of her hand. Blood gushed out of the wound freely, consuming the entirety of her palm, her fingers, and the floor surrounding the hand. While her body convulsed from the pain, and the blood loss, her hand just…lied there, almost seeming alien to the body it was attached to.

Blood was everywhere. The man frowned more deeply now, kneeling on one of his knees, to observe her. Her convulsions got gradually less violent, her body becoming weaker by the severe blood loss, and she was gasping for air, her lips white with the effort.

Without talking, he took her hand. Valerie whimpered feebly, her body barely making a move now. Her head had lolled on one side, and her shoulders were slumped in an unnatural way, her breathing now coming in wheezes.

_Death. That is what the fool has chosen. So cowardly, pathetic excuse of an escape._

He firmly grasped her severed wrist, and placed his thumb over the gash. He felt the warmth of her flesh, on his own skin, and the ticklish feeling of dripping blood, and, again, was a little bit nauseated, tinged with a bit of…_pity? How preposterous._

He murmured something, in an inaudible whisper, his thumb gently moving over her cut. Valerie's breathing had quietened down, but she hadn't passed out yet. There was now a pale greyish tinge to her pupils, as her eyes were set on his face, though he doubted how much of the sight her mind actually registered, because every time he looked back at her, he was faced with just blank hanging orbs of fading green, and slowly fading breathes.

Golden mist erupted from the point of his thumb, engulfing her wrist, just like the scarlet of the blood had done moments before. They danced, the waves of mist, over her severed wrist, coiling around again and again until it had formed a firm bandage of golden mist over her deep gash, until the cut was not visible. Then, with another eruption, a larger, mightier eruption of gold, the magical bandage was gone, taking the scarlet libation with them, and leaving a clean, healed wrist.

Except a scar. A deep rooted scar, stretching across her wrist, white in its shade, a reminder of the previous gory spectacle.

_Scars do not heal._

He got up from his kneeling position, leaving her hand to be, on the ground. His magic have worked perfectly on her wrist. Her arm, which had been looking white with blood loss, now shot to colour, and her fingers twitched with the new senses.

"It will be probably wise to discuss the prospects later, when you are…more stable." he said disdainfully, and turned back, leaving a near unconscious Valerie on the floor. _She shall heal_. "Have a good night, Miss Goldstein."

"You think you can save me?"

He spun back on his feet, a sudden alertness flooding his mind. Her voice was alarming, nothing like he had ever heard. She was speaking in an unnaturally high pitched voice, shrill, and far from humanly. He, for the first time since he had been here, felt a little apprehensive.

Valerie's lips moved again, but no sound came out, for a while. Then, she took a deep breath, and fixed her eyes on his alert face. It was probably his imagination, but he thought he saw a strange yellow tinge to her green eyes.

"You really think you can save me? Me, who was doomed to bring her own destruction? Me, who would rather cut out her own heart in half than to speak aloud? NO! NO!" she howled wildly, and then erupted into dark peals of laughter. "I choose my choices, don't you see? IT WAS NEVER ENOUGH FOR ME!" her voice, despite its unnatural sound, sounded near close to pleading. "So I chose to be a monster, then I chose to be a killer, and then I chose to be a plain destructive weapon!" her voice became shrill again. "A weapon, a weapon that kills you, softly, silently, and, and…" she gulped. "_Beautifully._" she dropped to mere whispers as she spoke, a loving hiss in her voice. Her hands moved freely, and a dreamy, vague smile jumped up on her eight bloody pieces than be enslaved." she whispered, her words slowly fading now. "I would rather, rather…I would bloody…."

And then, the unthinking happened.

She shrieked, her voice cutting through the air, and rattling him till his bones. Her screams seemed to have a life of their own, jumping up and down, up and down, in their free, wild motion. Her hands flapped, her entire body jolted with a motion of a fish taken out of water. Then, as suddenly it started, it quietened down. Valerie's body slumped backwards, and now, truly passed out in the oblivion, her breathing returned to a normal, rhythmic motion.


	3. Enter Lie-smith

**So the third chapter is up! Enjoy!**

* * *

_Twenty minutes before the surveillance shuts down._

She sighed and looked around. From the corner where she was standing, the enormous room, with all its occupants was clearly visible. Men, in their posh Dolce, and the women in their elaborate Dior, with the smell of money all over them. Owning to the fact that it was a masquerade ball, each one of their faces were covered in those quirky masks, with feathers and gems embedded. There was a soft sound of conversation, and mild clanking of wine glasses. Some of the guests waltzed in the centre, to the cooing, melodious violin symphony that played on, adding to the general pleasantness.

As people passed her, they gave her a general stare of utter surprise, tinged with some awe. Valerie Goldstein was the master of disguise. She had found early that putting up a guise was the first line of defence that she could afford. This evening was no exception. She had taken the role of one of her least known aliases, the baroness. Her deep tan complexion was replaced by sun kissed skin, with twirling locks of deep brown hair playfully covering her one bare shoulder. The other sleeve of the dress was long, covering the entirety of her left hand. She had clad in an immaculate, vintage evening gown, whose train sprawled across the floor, and created a spectacular sight. Her eyes, which were natural green, had turned a baby blue shade, under her baroness persona. Like the others in the room, she had covered her face in a midnight blue mask, with lapis lazulis embedded on the glittery border. She was not Valerie Goldstein anymore. She was, as her fake passport suggested, Miss Agnes Bellerose, heiress to a rich aunt, and a casual frequenter to England.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of the portly man at the other end of the room, looking pretty dapper in a neat black suit. He caught sight of her staring at him, and smiled lewdly.

_Enjoy the twenty minutes you have._

"Champagne, Miss Goldstein?"

Valerie was startled. She almost jumped up in surprise, but by the grace of her strong nerves, she was able to contain herself. It was a lonely corner where she had taken her place, and moments ago, she had checked that she was alone in her place.

"Oh, I apologize. I did not mean to shock you." He now came into full view, the signature smirk scrawled across his face. He could not have looked any more fitting for the occassion, as he did then, clad in a splendid evening suit, his look completed by a dark vest, and a red carnation peeking out of his breast pocket. His black hair was sleeked back, and his green eyes shone brightly, underneath the whimsy, black mask.

"You." Valerie murmured, clutching the nearby stone table rather tightly. It all came back to her, her mind over-flooded by the memories, and she felt that the little self-control that she exercised, would break. The scar in her hand seemed to tingle at his presence. She swallowed deeply. "You're not supposed to be here."

"Have some champagne," he offered her a glass of sparkling beverage. When she looked at him with a sharp eye, he shrugged. "Don't let the emotions get the best of you, Miss Goldstein, you know that does not work for you."

"What do you want?" she asked, not friendly in her tone at all. "And who are you?"

"Oh, I beg your pardon. I have seemed to lost all my manners." He snickered. "My name is Loki. Loki Lie-smith. Perhaps you have heard of me."

She remained quiet for a some time. Her face held the practiced impassiveness that she had mastered years ago. "Yeah. Yeah, I have heard of you," she replied. "Word around the worlds is that you fell from the Bifrost, that Asgardian bridge, two months ago."

"_Nothing can surprise Valerie Goldstein _." he cited from some unknown source, completely unfazed. "Well, I'm impressed. So, you are what they say you are. Then, perhaps..."

"You are not supposed to be here. You're supposed to be dead," she interrupted him. "And I don't like seeing you."

"And yet, we keep on meeting. Say what you want, but I would term this as destiny."

"Yeah, I don't believe in destiny."

"Do you believe in a lucrative business opportunity? The one that would be of great interest?"

She tilted her head. Her scar was now feeling absolutely ticklish, and she had a strong urge to itch that spot. One part of her screamed in utter agony, and wanted to hit him in the face, and wipe that smirk of his mug, for saving her, _saving her! _She closed her eyes for a brief moment, to ease her breathing, and when she opened her eyes again, there was a cool, sharp interest in her eyes. "I have a rule," she said. "Never let one business get mixed with another. It just creates a big mess. I am here for a reason, Mr. Lie-smith. Listening to your offer may distract me."

"Oh, your current task would not take much time, would it?" Loki glanced at the portly man across the corner. "How many more minutes does the poor man have?"

Valerie stared at him coolly. "You know an awful lot about me, don't you?" she said. "In fact, you seem to know every bloody detail."

"Such profanities does not suit your stature, Miss Goldstein." he replied, now grinning broadly. "Or, I should say, Miss Bellerose. Shall we dance?"

And before she could object, or move, he gracefully guided her to the centre of the room. He seemed to be perfectly sure of his movements, as he took her hand and comfortably held her in position. She had a strong mind to rip away from his grip, but then she felt that she was being observed by several of the guests. Very hesitatingly, she placed her hand on his shoulder, and let him glid her along the melody.

"Don't worry," he whispered. "Your man is eyeing you very intimately. I think I just made your task much simpler."

"I don't see how." she whispered back icily.

"Men want what other men want." he swirled her elegantly, and let her face him again. "Now, I believe your man is teething with jealousy, and I believe I saved you the meaningless chatter that you would had to undertake in order to bed him. Here, have a look."

And in an elegant swirl, he turned his back to the man, letting Valerie peek at her target over his shoulder. Loki was right. Even though his face was impassive, behind the dark mask, his eyes seethed with a sort of envy that would only be found in the stories. His grey pupils had almost turned white with anger at the sight of her and Loki dancing. She could not help but be flattered at the sight of this jealousy, but then she reminded herself that it was not her, but Agnes Bellerose that was garnering all that attention, and she calmly re-arranged her thoughts, before looking back at him.

"I do not plan to bed him, if you must know."

"No? Oh, I beg your pardon. So I should assume that you will simply lure him away with your remarkable disguise, and then put that firearm strapped to your thigh into good use. Is it not your plan?"

She stared at him for a moment. _Cocky bastard. _"Yes."

"Good riddance."

They danced quietly for a moment. All the while, Valerie assessed him very minutely. No matter how irrational and rash her previous behaviour had been, she was not even close to being reckless. She was gifted with sharp wit and an uncanny ability to observe people. The man in front of her made an excellent case for such studies. He smiled, and he smirked, and his mannerism was the most pleasant she had experienced in a long time. And it was alarmingly unnatural. She had met unpleasant, irritating, surly, abusive people, all through the stretch of her 'business', and never felt uncomfortable in their presence. Because where she hails from, unkindness seemed to be the way of life. But this new man, with his suave presence, alarmed her. Behind that smiling exterior, she pictured a cold manipulator, whose hands would not hesitate for once to kill, whose mind would swarm with cruelty. And for a moment, a sickening moment, this idea excited her beyond measure.

"What are you thinking?" his whispered voice broke her chain of thought. She looked up at him, and startled, saw that his eyes had turned deathly cold. Suddenly the image she had in mind was presented in front of her eyes, and she realized that the impassiveness in her face must have paved way for alertness. Something told her that he knew the answer, he knew exactly what she was thinking.

Valerie stiffened. "I am thinking," she looked back at her target. "That his twenty minutes are up. I must take leave now."

For a moment, his grip hardened, but then, the moment passed. He did a respectful courtesy, and placed a gentle kiss on the top of her palm. "Off you go, then," he said. "I shall wait here."

Free from Loki, she walked up to the man. The man had been leaning back, and coldly eyeing the dancing couple for all the time. However, his jaw softened the moment she had approached him.

"Baroness..." his drawl was lustful, as his eyes hovered over her body, in a rather inappropriate manner.

Even though she was accustomed to such behaviour, Valerie could not help but feel slightly furious at this, and momentarily, she thought about shooting him through his eyeball that very moment. Nevertheless, she forced herself to pull her lips in a taut smile.

"Monsieur Kelly," she took up an immaculate French accent, that very much suited her persona. "Perhaps we shall skip this little dance, and go straight to the act, _oui_? I have a flight to catch this evening."

His eyes showed that he was surprised, as well as delighted beyond measure. No wonder he thought that he had been handed a gift, and the smile that spread across his face sickened her to the gut.

"You are a visionary," he bowed, and taking her hand led her out of the room. As they moved, she stroked the Beretta that was strapped to her thigh lovingly.


End file.
